Dying for Dinner (A Cooking Class Mystery) (31 page)

Eighteen

MATT O'HARA WAS SMART ENOUGH TO KNOW THAT if he parked at the Metro station all night, either the Metro Transit Police or an officer from the D.C. Metropolitan force would come a-knockin' to see what the RV was doing there.

Too bad.

I would have welcomed a hero, no matter what the uniform. The way it was, by the time the sun was down and the city was quiet, my wrists ached from being taped and I was pretty sure my feet and ankles weren't getting nearly enough blood flow. I was thirsty. I was hungry. I was exhausted. Oh, yeah, I was scared to death, too.

We left the Metro station and drove through the city, and though the boxes piled in front of the windows on the sides of the RV made it impossible to see in that direction, if I twisted just enough, I could see out the front windshield. My neck muscles ached and my insides were flopping around as if they were filled with nervous butterflies. Still, I couldn't pull my gaze away. I watched familiar scenery shoot past: the White House, the Lincoln Memorial, the Washington Monument. At night with its monuments bathed in light, Washington, D.C., is especially beautiful, and seeing the sights I'd seen so many times before and always taken for granted, realizing I might not ever seen them again, tears stung my eyes. After a couple hours of driving around in what seemed an aimless pattern, O'Hara pulled into a no-tell motel somewhere near Sterling, jumped out, and left us on our own.

"Now's our chance," I hissed at Eve, checking out the window to see what O'Hara was up to. I watched him go inside a door marked
Registration
and for the first time since our ordeal began, some of the tension drained from my body. Even a couple moments out of O'Hara's sight--and away from that menacing knife he was always flashing--was a welcome relief. "We've got to make a move, Eve. We've got to try and escape."

"And we're going to do this how?" Eve is not usually this sarcastic, but I suppose I couldn't blame her. We were under some major stress here. Good thing she didn't realize that she'd bitten off all her lipstick. If she had any idea how pale she looked without it (or how her hair stuck up at a funny angle over her left ear) she would have been even more upset. She squirmed. "I can't move my hands. I can't even feel my feet. Annie, what are we going to do? You don't suppose he's--"

She didn't have a chance to finish. The door snapped open and Matt O'Hara clomped back onto the RV, kicking his way through discarded kitchen gadgets from the door over to where we sat.

"Can't expect me to stay in his hellhole all night," he said, though one glance out the window at the motel with its peeling paint and a parking lot that was largely empty and pocked with potholes made me wonder if he was talking about the RV or the motel. "But I'm not stupid, neither." He yanked at my hands, just to make sure they were bound good and tight, and when he was sure, he checked my legs, then Eve's legs and hands. "My room is right over there." He poked his chin toward the window of the nearest room. "And I'm a light sleeper. One peep out of either of you two and . . ." In what had become a cliche that would have been laughable if it wasn't so darned terrifying, he pulled out his knife and held it up and into a pool of neon orange light thrown by the motel's sign. Thanks to the piled boxes and the way he'd parked under a broken light, the rest of the RV was a mishmash of shadows. "You're going to stay here locked up good and tight."

"We're hungry." I tried to appeal to his humanity. "We're thirsty and--"

"Shut up." So much for humanity. "When I have my money, then you'll eat. And if I don't get my money . . ." I didn't like the way he smiled. He'd already opened the door of the RV and had started down the steps when he turned to us one last time. "By the way, I told the desk clerk inside that I was on my way to a dog show. That I was transportin' a couple pit bulls that were as ornery as a son of a bitch. You'd like the guy." There was that smile again, the one that made my skin crawl. "Keeps a pistol behind the counter. You know, just in case. I told him if he hears any noise from this here RV or sees the door open . . . well, I explained how these dogs of mine can sometimes get a little testy. I told him if he sees anything--anything at all--he should just start shootin'. Paid him fifty bucks to make sure he stays awake all night and watches, too." O'Hara tipped his head. "Good night, ladies. Enjoy every minute of it, because if your friend Norman don't have that money for me tomorrow bright and early . . . well, I wasn't bullshittin' when I told that fella on the phone that it just might be your last night on earth."

It wasn't until I heard the key turn in the door lock that I dared to breathe again.

"We've got to do something, Eve. And we've got to do it now."

"I dunno." Her eyes were round, and even in the semidarkness I could tell they were bright with unshed tears. "You heard what he said, Annie. If we make any noise, that clerk, he's going to--"

"Then we're going to have to make sure we're really quiet, aren't we?" Again, I tested the strength of the tape around my wrists. It didn't give an inch. "O'Hara, when he took my cell phone away, he threw it into a box in the bedroom," I reminded Eve. "If we can get to it . . ."

"How?" Eve's voice was clogged, and I knew it wouldn't take much for the dam to burst. I tried not to notice. If I did, I'd give in to my fear, too. "Annie, I can't move an inch. How are we going to--"

"But we can move an inch." To prove it, I scooted across the bench where I sat trussed like a Thanksgiving turkey. "Our hands are bound and so are our legs, but we can move a little. Maybe if we can just get to--"

I scooted again. Too far. I landed on my butt on the floor and in a heap of kitchen gadgets.

"Shh!" Her eyes wide, Eve darted a look at the door. "What if that clerk thinks we're pit bulls?"

"I didn't make that much noise," I muttered, and rightfully so. I couldn't have caused too much of a ruckus considering I landed on a pile of strawberry hullers. They were not the most comfortable cushion in the world and I wriggled off them and immediately sat on a corkscrew. I will not report what I said. What I said after I was done saying what I said was, "That's it! We can get out of here, Eve. I know we can."

She did not look convinced. "You gonna scoot your way to the door?" she asked. Her accent made her sound every inch the Southern belle. The sarcasm did not. I might have pointed this out if she didn't breeze right on. "And what are you going to do then? Kick at the door? What if that clerk with the gun--"

"He wouldn't shoot. Even if he thought there were dogs in here." This is what I wanted to believe so I made sure I packed enough oomph into the statement to convince us both. "People don't just go around shooting dogs. People like dogs."

I knew I'd made a mistake the moment the words were past my lips, but by that time, it was too late. I heard Eve swig her nose in unladylike fashion. "I miss Doc," she said. Her words were nearly drowned by her tears. "What if I never see him again? What if they don't find us right away and he's home for days and days by himself and--"

"No way am I going to let you go there." I said this with oomph, too. Eve needed oomph (or at least the good impression of it I was trying my darnedest to convey) to keep from being swallowed whole by her worries. "And besides, nothing's going to happen to Doc. Jim and Norman and Tyler already know we're missing. You don't think they're going to leave Doc alone, do you?" I knew in my heart this was true. For all his issues with Doc, Jim is not mean. He'd never abandon the little guy. "Doc is in good hands."

"I know." If only Eve sounded more convinced! "It's just that--"

"I know." I cut her off because I didn't need her to start a laundry list of her fears. My own list was already plenty long, and I couldn't risk adding to it. With that in mind, I felt around behind me and got poked with the business end of the corkscrew. My fingers were stiff and unresponsive, so it took a while, but I managed to hang on to that corkscrew long enough to prop it against the nearest cardboard box. I scuttled back against it.

"Annie, what in the world--"

I didn't bother trying to explain. Instead, I concentrated on using the corkscrew to poke holes in the duct tape. When I heard the first hole pop, I congratulated myself, but I didn't stop trying. If I could make holes all along the tape that bound my wrists . . .

An hour later--after knocking over and picking up the corkscrew a couple of dozen times--I had made a total of three small holes. My wrists were as confined as ever.

"At this rate, we're going to be here until next week," I grumbled, and peered through the dark to see if I could find anything that might be more useful.

I saw a mallet (not so good for slicing tape), an herb mincer (great for cutting, but these small, round gadgets use rollers to cut herbs into tiny pieces, and since I couldn't hold it and roll it across the tape, it wouldn't do me a bit of good), a pizza cutter (same problem as with the herb mincer), and--

"An oyster knife!" My fingers closed around the knife and I nearly choked on my tears of joy. "Stainless steal blade," I told Eve, "Santoprene handle. Santoprene is a thermoplastic compound. It's processed like any other plastic, but it's very durable. It can withstand hot and cold and--"

"Annie, this proves it. You have worked at Tres Bonne Cuisine too long."

Eve was right, but I was too jazzed by my discovery to care. As I did with the corkscrew, I fumbled behind my back to wedge the knife between the floor and the nearest packing box. Then I got to work. I stabbed myself a couple of times, I broke two fingernails, and I sliced into my index finger. By the time another hour had passed, my fingers were slick with my own blood, but the tape on my wrists felt looser.

"You've got to hurry, Annie."

I didn't need the reminder. In the dark, it was hard to say how long we'd been there or what time it might be, but I wasn't going to take any chances. The sooner I had my hands on my cell phone and called Jim, the happier I'd be.

"Annie!" Eve's warning stopped me cold. Her harsh whisper sent chills up my spine.

She craned her neck to see out the windshield. "The door of the office is opening, Annie. Somebody's coming out. Oh, Annie! It's a man. He's coming . . . he's coming this way!"

For a second, I thought about screaming and, really, I suppose it might have been the best option. But I thought about Claude Brooking, too, before I thought about that motel desk clerk. I thought about Matt O'Hara in his room, and I thought about that big ol' knife of his. If the desk clerk heard us and tried to help, he might suffer the same fate as Claude.

That, I couldn't even bring myself to think about.

"Shh." I signaled Eve to keep quiet. "What's he doing?" I whispered.

Leaning forward, Eve grunted. "Lighting a cigarette. Smoking a cigarette. Do you think he has his gun?"

"I think his gun is the least of our worries." Because I knew I could do it silently, I worked on the duct tape some more. "What time do you suppose it is?"

Through the gloom, I saw Eve shrug. "It must be late. Tyler, he must be real worried."

Kidnapping or no kidnapping, it was the perfect opening, and, Eve being the best friend a girl could ever have, I was duty bound to take it. It was hardly the time for girl talk, but spilling my guts (figuratively only) beat giving in to the panic that coursed through my veins, pumping my blood and making the cuts and nicks on my hands bleed even more.

"I talked to Tyler," I said, my voice far more casual than the situation warranted. "I don't know if you know this, Eve. I mean, I think if you did, you might have mentioned it. Or at least hinted at how you felt about it. Tyler, he told me that his engagement to Kaitlin--"

"It's been called off. I know that, Annie."

I turned as much as I was able so that I could watch her carefully without losing my vantage point in regard to the oyster knife. "You don't sound--"

"Happy?" Eve's laugh was watery. "It's kind of hard to be happy when we've been kidnapped and there's a vicious killer right outside our door who's standing there oh so casually smoking a cigarette and is probably thinking about blowing us away and--"